And charge ingloriously my flight, when such an overthrow Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will We must submit us, that hath raz’d, and will be razing still, Men’s footsteps from so many towns; because his pow’r is most, He will destroy most. But how vile such and so great an host Will show to future times, that, match’d with lesser numbers far, We fly, not putting on the crown of our so-long-held war, Of which there yet appears no end! Yet should our foes and we Strike truce, and number both our pow’rs; Troy taking all that be Her arm’d inhabitants, and we, in tens, should all sit down At our truce banquet, ev’ry ten allow’d one of the town To fill his feast-cup; many tens would their attendant want; So much I must affirm our pow’r exceeds th’ inhabitant. But their auxiliáry bands, those brandishers of spears, From many cities drawn, are they that are our hinderers, Not suff’ring well-rais’d Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now, Since Jove our conquest vow’d; and now, our vessels rotten grow, Our tackling falls; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and long For our arrival; yet the work, that should have wreak’d our wrong, And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid, all Obey, and fly to our lov’d home; for now, nor ever, shall Our utmost take-in broad-way’d Troy.” This said, the multitude Was all for home; and all men else that what this would conclude Had not discover’d. All the crowd was shov’d about the shore, In sway, like rude and raging waves, rous’d with the fervent blore Of th’ east and south winds, when they break from Jove’s clouds, and are borne On rough backs of th’ Icarian seas: or like a field of corn High grown, that Zephyr’s vehement gusts bring eas’ly underneath, And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath; For ev’n so eas’ly, with the breath Atrides us’d, was sway’d The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray’d, All rush’d; and, with a fog of dust, their rude feet dimm’d the day; Each cried to other, “Cleanse our ships, come, launch, aboard, away.” The clamour of the runners home reach’d heav’n; and then, past fate, The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the Goddess of estate Thus spoke to Pallas: “O foul shame, thou untam’d seed of Jove, Shall thus the sea’s broad back be charg’d with these our friends’ remove, Thus leaving Argive Helen here, thus Priam grac’d, thus Troy, In whose fields, far from their lov’d own, for Helen’s sake, the joy And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish’d? Take thy way T’ our brass-arm’d people, speak them fair, let not a man obey The charge now giv’n, nor launch one ship.” She said, and Pallas did As she commanded; from the tops of heav’n’s steep hill she slid, And straight the Greeks’ swift ships she reach’d; Ulysses (like to Jove In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove Stirr’d not a foot, nor touch’d a ship, but griev’d at heart to see That fault in others. To him close the blue-eyed Deity